Babylon
by scarlet and gold
Summary: Between the lines of DH from the chapter The Thief onwards. Harry's thoughts about Hermione start to bother him. As he struggles to control them, he may find that actions speak louder than words. HARRYS POINT OF VIEW. See Babylons Sister for Hermione's.
1. Chapter 1

This is an experiment –it's pretty different to how I usually write so I'm not sure how you'll like it. I've actually written quite a few chapters of this, but won't post the whole thing till it's finished, so think of this as a one shot at the moment. I just want to see what you think of the idea and the first chapter for a bit of guidance before I carry on.

I'm posting two stories today; this one is the Harry version, from his point of view. The other story is called Babylon's Sister and is the same story but from Hermione's point of view.

The story runs parallel to Deathly Hallows from the chapter 'The Thief'. It's kind of a between the lines idea of an H/Hr subtext and closely follows canon. The whole story was inspired by the song Babylon by David Gray, hence the titles.

I'd love your feedback to gauge how I go with this style and the idea of the two parallel stories; I really need some help with this one! As always thanks for reading and reviewing xxx

Oh yeah and surprise! – I don't own the Harry Potter characters.

Chapter one

_Let go of your heart_

_Let go of your head_

_And feel it now_

I'm lying on the bunk staring at a stain on the dark canvas above me.

It looks like a face, in profile with a ridiculous nose and long hair. I blow out a loud exhale of breath, not remotely audible over Ron's snoring from the bunk below me.

I can't sleep. And I'm bone tired.

And weary and pissed off. I'm doing a pretty good job of feeling sorry for myself but I don't give a shit. As is often the case when you're feeling sorry for yourself.

I keep picking up the locket and holding it up off my chest, and when I take it away, it feels like a piece of ice had been pressed on my skin in the spot where it lay. I pass it off as my imagination, which has been pretty active lately.

In fact, my thoughts are muddled like never before.

I frown into the darkness. I know there's a few moments in particular that are pricking my conscience but admitting it is about as scary as actually believing that there really is a little heartbeat in this hideous looking locket.

In the quietness of the tent, I squeeze my eyes tight as I give up ignoring it and gently probe the thought.

Yesterday, the three of us had fled the Ministry, Hermione apparating us to the woods where we'd stayed for the Quidditch World Cup. I couldn't believe she'd actually felt bad about it – in that she had taken us to Grimmauld Place on the way and therefore blown that hideout to the Deatheaters.

But when she was telling me what had happened with tears in her eyes, I felt my usual anger leave me to be replaced with an overwhelming urge to hold her.

Which showed me two things.

One was that I was often angry, defensive with her. Short to the point of being rude at times. When in actuality, I had nothing but respect for how incredible she was. I mean, without her packing – the tent, the Essence of Dittany, my cloak, where would Ron and I be? Ron would certainly be short an eyebrow or worse.

So why was I so hard on her some times? And then there was the second thing.

It was the urge to hold her. Not hug her, hold her. I stopped myself from doing it but I had very suddenly become aware of how small she was in that one moment and I had an urge to circle my fingers around her upper arm, just to see if they would touch.

Instead I had done the first thing I'd thought of to distract myself which was to reach into my pocket and bring out Mad Eye Moody's eye to show her. She shrank back away from me then and I breathed some relief.

We had dragged Ron into the lower bunk where he lay now. Hermione had put on the kettle and I'd sat there sipping the tea she'd given me, trying to forget the strange thoughts I'd had a moment ago.

I felt weird all night and still hadn't come to any conclusions by the time it turned ten o'clock and I lit my wand stepping out of the tent to relieve Hermione from her watch.

She was leaning against the canvas by the doorway, twisting her wand into a curl of her hair, a habit I didn't, till right then, realise I knew she had. She was watching something up in a tree and I followed her gaze to a squirrel wriggling quickly up the trunk.

I dropped down next to her and for some reason picked her hand up off her lap, holding it in mine.

It dropped back into her lap, my hand underneath hers and therefore resting on the thigh of her outstretched leg. She was wearing jeans but it's still a place I've never touched her before. I could tell she had turned her face to me, but I didn't take my eyes off the tree, the squirrel long gone already.

She watched me a bit longer; her face was close enough that I could feel her breath touching my cheek. Then after a while, she dropped her head on to my shoulder. I thought of Ron in the lower bunk inside and was guiltily grateful for the injuries that were keeping him immobile.

He wouldn't want to have seen the picture we must have made.

I hated to think.

Maybe she was thinking the same thing because she got up, dropping my hand but pressing down on my shoulder as she stood, squeezing it briefly before she let go and ducked into the tent.

Her movement sent a group of bats scattering into the small patch of sky visible above and I watched them as they swirled out in a cloud then back to the tree they came from.

I pulled out the Marauders Map and looked for Ginny's dot in the girls' dormitory of Hogwarts. I felt strangely like I was staring at it, unwavering, as if it was some kind of penance.

Hermione and Ron began talking in the tent then and I wondered if she could still feel the spot on her leg where my hand lay, because I was acutely aware of exactly how much of the skin on the back of my hand had been in contact with her thigh for even that brief moment.

I shook my head to disturb my thoughts and was almost thankful for the prickling in my scar that distracted me next.

As the pain got worse, my mind jumped from one worry to another while I sat there; the remaining Horcrux's, what's become of Kreacher. It distracted me from my strange thoughts of Hermione though and I think I even focused in on the burning in my scar – which was still steadily becoming worse - as a way of side stepping the odd revelations I'd had that day.

Then next thing I knew, I was looking up at her. She was leaning over me, blocking out the sky, her face only visible by the gentle light from the tent and I realised I was sprawled on the ground now.

I could tell she wasn't happy with me, she knew I was having visions again.

She tried to tell me off; I wanted to tell her what I had seen of Voldemort but she was angry at me. It's the first time she's turned away from me when I've needed to talk.

She wanted to take over the watch again and I let her. I wanted to get away from her then, and the anger she was directing to me was new and intense and she wouldn't make eye contact. I wondered then if it wasn't just that I haven't been closing my mind to Voldemort. I did think maybe she was mad I took her hand earlier.

For once, I didn't really know. It made me realise how well I've always been able to read her when for the first time I couldn't.

All very strange, I know.

It must be the stress getting to us. Or maybe this Horcrux.

This thing.

I hold it up close to my face now as I lie on this creaky bunk, squinting at it in the low light and rubbing the spot on my chest where it's been lying.

The green stones of the ornate 'S' seem to be glowing now and it gives me the creeps, I close my hand around it quickly in a fist.

I feel cold to my bones and think of Hermione outside. She's still out there from having taken my shift when I had my little episode with the scar; I really ought to relieve her.

I don't admit I want to see her.

I swing my legs off the bunk and lower myself slowly to the ground, casting an eye at Ron. His head is back on the pillow, his mouth wide open and his nostrils plainly visible as they trumpet impressively.

I needn't be quiet, he isn't waking for anything.

She's sitting cross legged by the door, cocooned in a blanket.

She looks up, smiles, shuffles over to make room for me.

I sit down where she was and notice it's still warm there from her body heat.

I stretch my legs out and look at my toes, just remembering I'd forgotten to put shoes on. She mutters something beside me and I notice the blanket is growing like a spreading stain; and then she holds her arms out like wings and leans towards me.

It's like she's going to wind her arms around my neck and I draw in a sharp breath, but she's just laying the blanket around my back, and stretching her other arm across my front to pull the end around so we're both wrapped in it.

I think she noticed my reaction because I can feel her smiling.

Some strange sense of boldness comes over me and I turn my head to look down at her.

She is indeed smiling, to herself it seems as she looks at my toes just visible out of the blanket now.

When she looks up though, the smile slips.

Her eyes catch mine and I really look at them now, memorizing the shape, the colour, the way her eyelashes are much longer at the edges. Her lashes are thick and they're jet black.

Those eyes wander up to my scar, or maybe my hair, I can't tell. The little moonlight we had breaking through the gap in the canopy of trees seems to have gone behind a cloud.

Then her small hand has traveled up through the blanket to touch my forehead, and I know for sure she was looking at my scar now because she traces it, lightly with her thumb.

I close my eyes at the feeling.

Her other hand is holding the blanket together around us, and the warmth generating in the space between our bodies now is almost tangible.

My mind is whirling; it feels like its being torn in a million different directions. One part is flying to Ron in the tent, his snores still audible. Another flies to the dot that is Ginny on the Marauders Map, lying in her bed and unaware how close I am to doing just what she feared before she gave me that kiss to remember her by.

What I'm so very close to doing.

I know it will take one movement from me. Her breathing is slightly quickened. I think I can hear her biting on her bottom lip.

Her hand is still on my face, her fingers spreading into my hairline as her thumb continues to trace the lightning bolt shape over and over again. Then her palm flattens ever so gently against my cheek and the blood rushes in my ears so it's involuntary when I do it.

I turn my face into her palm.

Now it's her turn for the sharp intake of breath.

I freeze for a moment, a hesitation where sanity could've crept in, and then I think I realise we're already undone.

I press against her hand with my nose, nudging gently. I hope she knows it means I don't want her to stop.

It's still too dark to make out her face but I can hear a small sound almost like a whimper escape her lips. Her hand kind of melts against my cheek now, cupping my jaw.

Now I know what a caress is. I've read that word once, but I didn't really 'get' it. Until now.

The stillness is almost painful, and I'm aware of every movement and every noise. I can hear the blanket when it shifts minutely over her shoulders with her every breath.

Then the moon comes back.

I can see her eyes again and I'm surprised that I don't look away. She doesn't either; I think we've come too far.

My hand feels heavy as I pull it off the ground where it was steadying me. Up through the blanket, with surprising quickness my fingers find her neck and I pull her in to me, rougher then I intended.

I still have some control though because I don't kiss her yet, I've just pulled her forehead to mine. The breath is coming harder now from both of us, our mouths slightly open and so close to touching.

All the reasons why we shouldn't do this are in that tiny bit of space that's still between. I tug on her neck again, in frustration. It brings her almost close enough but not quite, our foreheads pressed firmly together. She puts her hand up to clutch my upper arm and I don't know if she's telling me to pull away or to give in.

Either way, when her fingernails dig into my bicep it's too much for me.

I crush her lips into mine.

She makes that noise again and then she's falling into me.

I bring my other hand up to grip her hair as I kiss her hard, wanting to drive the irrationality of it all away and feel… something.

She grants me that, her mouth so hot in contrast to the night, leaning into me, I can't think of anything but the feel of her tongue on mine.

Stop stop stop…

A voice pipes up from somewhere and crazily I imagine it's coming from the Horcrux around my neck dangling between us, instead of my head. But even that can't distract me from the feel of her yielding against me.

I do stop though, but keep her pressed close with my hands, our foreheads and noses in line again, both of us breathing like we've run a mile.

The voice keeps getting louder with the 'stop stop' mantra but I grit my teeth against it, squeezing my eyes shut and shaking my head side to side against hers.

I think she takes that as a cue of some sort because she grips both my arms now, trapping me against her like she's afraid I'm going to pull away.

I'm not.

She moves into my mouth first this time, a couple of softer kisses before kissing me long and hard again. I was thinking of what to do next before she did that, and now she's sucking my bottom lip, taking away all my rational thought.

She saves me from making the decision when she cups her hands under my elbows while we're still kissing, gathering her legs under her till she's on her knees.

She breaks off the kiss but I'm still holding her head to mine, and she tugs up on my arms signaling she wants me to stand up.

I do, and we're rising off the ground together. I'm still holding her in close but I loosen my grip a bit. She's quick to grab my wrist before it drops from her hair though and doesn't even look me in the eyes before she turns, grabbing the blanket in her other hand and leading me into the trees.

My mouth is dry when I follow her as she leads me into the darkness. I have no idea where we're going – I'm pretty sure she doesn't either but we might both just be glad to be moving away from the tent. Eventually she stops in a small clearing and guides me to stand by a tree. Mutely I watch her as she drops my wrist to lay out the blanket.

She's drawn her wand without me noticing and she makes some tiny movements in a circle, whispering various spells though we're well out of anyone's ear shot. One is a warming spell I discover as heated air gently falls over my bare arms and rustles the front of my t-shirt.

She's stopped now and turns to look at me, her wand at her side. Though it feels like we've gone deeper into the forest, there's actually more light here, a shaft of moonlight illuminating our spot.

Her hair's bathed in it, and it's kind of glowing around her like an aura. She looks at me, in an exhilarating mix of shyness and confidence. She has questions in her eyes and all I can do is stare at her. Then I make a small movement, minutely turning my palms up, shaking my head.

I'm telling her I couldn't stop this if I tried.

She bites her lip and nods imperceptibly, though it's not victory, but sadness in her eyes.

But she holds her hand out to me and I draw to her like a magnet.

My fingers dive along her jaw to bury in her hair at the back of her neck, tilting her face to mine and our lips clash together again.

It's not comfort. I feel that distant thought surface as my mind tries to throw up lame excuses that I'm not even buying even before they're formed. I could tell myself it's the pressure, the danger of living on this razor edge.

It's not.

But that doesn't mean I know what it is. It just feels so good.

She feels better than anything.

My arms are moving of their own accord. I can't think of rules and reasons, I just want to feel her closer.

My hands are running over her shoulder blades; I move them to her hips and then up to her ribs, lifting her off her feet, still needing her closer.

It's a shock how light she is, and it dawns on me for the first time how much taller I am than her now. We used to be the same height. Now she feels like a doll in my arms.

She smiles very slightly against my mouth and winds her legs up and around my hips.

It drives me crazy. I clutch her to me tightly, turn around and lower her to the blanket.

The next hour is a blur of lips, warm skin, and her beautiful heavy curtain of hair falling over me. Her eyes sometimes catching mine, her legs straddling over me. The smell of the forest floor not masking the smell of her skin. I know for certain already that I'll never forget that.

But we don't speak. There are no words, just breath. Noises escape us but none are close to formed words. Just breathy gasps and moans in the deserted clearing and I'm not clear who's doing what but it doesn't matter. There's just that, and the constant sound of leaves crunching under the weight of our bodies.

I hold her hands down at times, my strange anger surfacing and making me forceful with her but not rough. It occurs to me I should be nervous now, about my first time, but I'm not. I don't think she is either.

We keep most of our clothes on. We've both chosen to step into this suspended moment but we know reality is only a second, only a word or a look away. We ignore it anyway but I know we're both conscious of it – because of the clothes. And because of her whispered contraceptive spell and because she stops short of marking me when she digs into my skin with her nails and I hold back from branding her when I'm sucking her neck. Though I badly want to.

Afterwards we lie still.

I've rolled my weight off her so we're on our sides, and pull some of the blanket around and up over us. My arm around her neck pulls her in close and I stare off into nowhere, kissing the top of her head.

She's breathing deeply, trying to calm herself I think, her face buried in my chest. I bring my hand up to play with her hair, brushing it back at her temple.

I don't know what to feel.

I don't regret it.

That's all I know right now.

Her face turns up to me and I look down at her, running my nose over her forehead, nose and cheeks. She smiles and I wish desperately that this wasn't wrong.

After a while, I rub her back, and then pat her gently on the shoulder. She nods sleepily, I know she doesn't want to move, but she knows I'm right.

We have to get back.

We stand up and straighten ourselves up, brushing dirt off; I frown in concentration as I pick leaves out of her hair. She's not looking at me and I can feel her mood shifting – I'm not ready for it yet and I don't want her to talk.

So I kiss her again. Much softer now.

She has the blanket under one arm and I run my hand down her other arm to her hand while I kiss her, leading her forward as soon as we break apart.

We get to the doorway of the tent. It looks the same as when we left, but it's infinitely different.

Because I'm different.

And I don't even know how yet. But I am.

And here we are back in the real world. My fingers are interlaced with hers and I'm putting off turning to look at her.

When I do, she's staring at the tent as if it's not really there. But she knows it is. It's more real than what we just did I think.

We can just make out Ron's snores through the canvas.

I take both her hands and stare at them; I think I'm supposed to know what to do here, but I don't.

But she saves me. She stands up on her toes and kisses the side of my face, just in front of my ear, pressing into me.

I hold the back of her head before she pulls away and she buries her face into my shoulder. Then she takes a few steps away towards the tent. Our hands are still linked, our arms outstretched.

We're both looking at our hands and then we venture a look at each other.

Her eyes are so full I want to bring her back into me again but I know I shouldn't. Instead I grip her hand again that's almost out of my grasp and squeeze.

She smiles sadly then she's gone.

And that's how it was, the first time.


	2. Chapter 2

_'Babylon's Sister' is a story written alongside another story of mine, Babylon. Both follow the same storyline but Babylon is Harry's Point Of View, Babylon's Sister is Hermione's. U could read both or just one, it doesn't matter – is just an experiment to try something a little different. _

Author's note:

(I'm not a fan of long author's notes so I'm sorry to keep doing this to u!)

I'm just posting one more (shorter) chapter now to show how the story is going to develop, but I'll post the rest when the story's fully finished (I've learnt I get a bit sidetracked if I write as I go..)

I have quite a few chapters already – the story is kinda epic and goes on past The Epilogue (ugh, which I hate but is my challenge to myself) to when …they eventually get together. But just please let me know what u think of this chapter because the rest of the story will be kinda similar in style and pace.

Thanks for your comments I really appreciate u taking the time to review J

Chapter Two

_Looking back through time _

_You know it's clear that I've been blind _

_I've been a fool. _

_To open up my heart _

_To all that jealousy _

_That bitterness, that ridicule. _

The next day, things are as normal as they ever were.

I feel like I could have dreamt it all.

But I know it was real, because just before daybreak I go for a walk to find a place that suits Moody in which to bury the magical eye. After placing it under an old gnarled tree, I wrap our blanket tighter around me and walk past the spot we were last night.

I linger there on the way back, tracing my memories by following the scattered and trampled leaves.

When I duck back into the tent she's awake, and in the shower. I make tea, acutely aware of the sound of the running water from the bathroom. When she gets out she's drying her hair with a towel but we don't talk or look at each other until after she wakes up Ron.

We start talking then and it's not as strange as I thought it might be. Hermione and I decide to move on, to be safe. There are no looks, no secret messages passed between our eyes, just the same easy way we've always worked together.

But I think of our spot in the woods and I wonder if we're leaving to run away from that too.

I still feel like I could have dreamt it all.

Though I don't think she regrets it. I don't know how I know that, I just do.

The next few days are strange. It's ridiculously normal between us. There are just a few things that happen that remind me that a subtle shift in the dynamic between the three of us has occurred.

First of all, at our very next campsite I go for food under the Invisibility Cloak and I encounter some Dementors. I try and conjure my Patronus and I can't. It scares me more than anything that's happened for months now.

When I get back to the tent, Hermione points out that the Horcrux around my neck could've been what affected me. I take it off and I do feel instantly lighter, though I don't tell her that she was the thought I'd conjured to bring out my Patronus. It wasn't that the thought wasn't happy enough; it just sort of took me by surprise that it was of her, and her alone. I look up from the armchair I'm in and she crouches down in front of me.

Her face looks hurt all of a sudden and I'm puzzled. Then she asks if I think I've been possessed.

I frown and snap my reply at her, not thinking.

"What? No!" I'm offended, and then I realise what she's getting at. I work hard at keeping my face expressionless, sensing Ron watching us closely. She's not doing such a great job at doing the same but her face isn't visible to Ron. Her features betray her mind, which is clearly starting down the thought path that the other night was due entirely to me wearing the Horcrux. I choose my reply very carefully.

"I remember everything we've done while I've been wearing it."

Her eyes register something like shock and I wonder if she can tell how much I've been going over the other night in my head. I risk a glance to Ron and see his food deprivation has done nothing for his patience, his scowl is intense. I hope his starved brain is also affecting his ability to pick up on the underlying tension that's now obvious between me and Hermione. I charge on.

"I wouldn't know what I'd done if I'd been possessed would I?"

This isn't much better as our eyes are still locked and most definitely sending messages now. I desperately try to steer the conversation on.

"Ginny told me there were times when she couldn't remember anything."

That did it – at the mention of Ginny's name, Hermione blinked and looked away, down at the heavy locket she'd taken from me and that was now in her hands. I tried not to notice how I felt sad, and then guilty, for wanting her to look back at me again.

We work out that we should take turns wearing the Horcrux.

My eyes linger on her when she puts it around her neck and drops it down the front of her top. I look away hastily and Ron makes a sulky comment about the fact we still need to find food. Hermione and I share a glance then, and I know we're both mentally rolling our eyes about him. It warms me no end to be sharing that thought with her.

We finally get some luck with food and the night that we eat well, things become easier between the three of us, relaxed and like normal. Except for when Ron goes to bed early, enjoying his full stomach. I felt a subtle connection between her and I flicker into life as Ron's snores fill the tent and I'm far too conscious of where she is in the room. I step out of the tent then to diffuse it but as Hermione sets about getting ready for bed, I pace outside on the first watch, shamefully praying she'll come to me.

When she does, I stride to her and kiss her greedily, the hunger I'd felt before our meal was no competition to this.

We're not far from the barn of the farm we're camping on and we silently make our way to it. It rains while we're in there, the rhythm on the tin roof drowning out my conscience that is screaming at me – a list of reasons a mile long as to why we shouldn't be here. Leaving Ron on his own in the tent was the first of many but I trusted Hermione's wards. I didn't trust myself to say anything however and it seemed that she didn't either because again no words are spoken.

But the sounds, the tastes, the smells of that night are burned into my brain forever.

I still till this day love the smell of hay, and the sound of rain on a roof.

It was over pretty quickly, both of us frantically grabbing at each other as we knelt face to face in the hayloft. I removed more of her clothing this time, feeling safer in the barn and she did to me too – her hands pulling at my jeans while we never lost contact with our lips.

She sat facing me in my lap when we were finished, my arms tightly wound around her waist, her arms wrapped around my head, holding me into her chest. My lips rested on the skin at the base of her neck, feeling the rapid tattoo of her pulse as it slowed. When she was breathing evenly again, I lay her down and positioned myself next to her, cradling her in close with my lips on her forehead.

This time she was the one who prompted me it was time to go, squeezing my arm.

We walked back, hand in hand in silence again. I can't get the image of her tying her hair out of my mind. Just after we'd dressed, I watched her tie her hair up and it frightened me how beautiful she seemed to me then. It was just a simple thing, but I was a little mesmerised when she lifted her arms to twist her hair; a small frown of concentration on her face as she looked into the middle distance. But she wouldn't look at me. She didn't kiss me when we reached the tent either, just ran her hand from the back of my neck down over my chest before turning and walking away. I went to grab for her arm but missed, she didn't notice. I don't even know what I would've done if I'd caught it but instead I just ended up watching her duck into the tent and away from me.

Still the days stretched on the same, with no obvious difference between us all, other than Ron's increasingly foul temper. I began to wonder if he sensed something. But mainly I thought his irritability was from the lack of food and his frustration that we'd had no breakthroughs in figuring out any further Horcrux's.

I began to resent him, and most of the time, I managed to convince myself that it was only to do with his negativity, and lack of contribution.

But once, when we'd just eaten a good meal of bread and ham from another farm's storeroom, Ron cheered up enough to give Hermione one of his compliments obviously straight out of '12 Fail Safe Ways to Charm Witches'. It was some lame comment about her cooking and I wasn't sure if it was Ron's wink at me after he'd said it, or Hermione's responding blush that caused the flash of anger that coursed through me.

I made to grasp for the Horcrux on my chest, thinking that was the source of my irritation but I realised suddenly that I wasn't wearing it – looking at her neck I saw that Hermione was. The moment passed quickly but it bugged me all night. I felt fidgety, as if I was the one wearing the locket.

The feeling boiled up inside of me and it only felt mildly placated after what happened when I was due to swap watch shifts with Hermione at two in the morning.

I had been awake in my bed and heard her step inside the tent, crossing the room to the bathroom. I watched her all the way and then silently swung my legs off my bunk and padded barefoot to the bathroom door. When she opened it I grabbed her upper arms, moving her back into the bathroom. A small gasp escaped her but she recovered from her surprise quickly to respond to my urgent kiss as I pressed her against the wall.

We were deathly quiet in the dark bathroom. I didn't dare breathe too much, even after Hermione muttered the Muffilato spell. I bit at her lip, not very gently and she gasped again but gripped me closer still. I didn't realise my pent up anger was obvious to her until she finally spoke – the first thing she'd ever said to me when we were together like this.

She said my name. Whispered it, over and over again – and I knew what she meant by it. She was telling me that with every flirty look or casual touch Ron gave her that it was still MY name she was calling breathlessly in to the darkness.

I grabbed her face between my hands and kissed every inch of it in response.

Afterwards I felt irresponsible, reckless – and not a little giddy. I was glad for the graveyard shift that night because I wouldn't have got any sleep anyway.

Over the next few weeks I met with her in dark corners, in moments that presented themselves for our respite.

Under the sanctuary of repelling, silencing and disillusionment charms we carried on, behind Ron's back.

We never ventured into the bathroom again, both acknowledging I think, that it had been beyond foolish. We just both seemed to know when it was going to happen, drawn to each other by an invisible pull in those moments – never by words, because in all this time, we were still yet to really speak.

And it was clear we were still yet to have had enough.

I began to guiltily look forward to our next encounter, never knowing if it would be the last. I felt like I was holding on to her like a drowning man to a life raft.

There had been no more playful behaviour from Ron towards Hermione; his mood just seemed to get darker and lower. He made no secret of the fact that he was resentful towards me, for not having the answers. I would catch him and Hermione talking about me sometimes. Part of me liked to think, or maybe hope, that perhaps she was defending me to him as he seemed to have a problem with our lack of progress on the hunt, and it was obvious he placed the blame squarely on me. Either way, distinct lines were being drawn, and I couldn't help but feel like we were all heading to events even more sinister than Voldemort and his Deatheaters.

Unsurprisingly, mingled in with my anger towards Ron, was a huge amount of guilt. I realised how hard it was to keep going – but it was harder for him because I had something he didn't, the only one thing seeing me through.

But weeks later that all changed, when we ended up on a riverbank in Wales.


End file.
